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Social media finds niche communicating bad news of serious illness and death

The way we communicate about serious illness and death in our private lives has been utterly transformed by social media. Using Facebook, text and even Twitter, as well as reliable old email, we take our most urgent and affecting news and send it on its digital way, barely stopping to absorb its deep impact on us, let alone the recipients.

Some of it is miraculous: Toronto publicist Riannon John masterminded an online communication strategy three years ago when her well-connected mother, Judith John, an executive at the Sick Kids Foundation, underwent emergency life-threatening brain surgery. With the click of the Send key, Riannon was able to relay news of her condition to family and the hordes of her mother’s friends at the same time.

Social media enables us to reach out to our entire network in one go. That way, no one feels hurt that they weren't told first. Everyone gets the news together. (DREAMSTIME)

This meant no hurt feelings about who was the first to know (yes, people do get into snits about where they’re ranked in the pecking order) not to mention disseminating accurate, nonsensational information that isn’t mangled by a distraught phone tree.

“I think it’s one of the best uses of technology. Ever,” says Judith John, who continues her recovery. Her daughter agrees: “It was a million times better than making the calls.” Writing the updates gave Riannon a welcome purpose — and the tsunami of well wishes were happily read to her mom when she could absorb them.

Of course, using social media to transmit bad news can be unsettling: a beloved grandparent’s body is barely removed to the funeral home before her teenage granddaughter posts on Facebook, “My awesome Grammy just passed away.” Which in turn is noticed by a friend in Europe who then emails someone back home who hadn’t heard the news.

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I’ve recently been involved in a slew of family medical crises. My sister-in-law’s 91-year-old mother fell and broke her hip, and she and I settled on text updates as our method of communicating — for example: “Doc in now discussing what’s next.” From my end, I hope my response was helpful: “Can I make dinner?”

And best of all, with juggling a job and spending hours at her mother’s side, my sister-in-law could control the timing of her updates. Most people on the front lines of a medical emergency don’t have the energy for phone conversations.

On the other side of the extended family, we dealt with the unexpected death of a 59-year-old who had gone into hospital for elective surgery. It left us all reeling, tapping out our I love yous and xox’s into the midnight ether until we could physically get together to mourn his death. I was struck by how many of us struggled to say something meaningful. “NO words …” became one overused phrase. But it was also remarkable how much love and intimacy came through in those halting messages.

Of course there are downsides: upbeat emails that immediately have to be corrected when the patient takes a turn for the worst. Too much information — whoever is responsible for emailing needs to convey complicated medical information in as direct and unambiguous way as possible. The communication skills of some are not up to the task.

Technical glitches: I poured my heart out in one text to a close relative which got me the reply: “I’m sorry who is this?” Turns out because I hadn’t texted her before my name wasn’t displayed.

And then there’s Reply All. Sigh. Too revealing. Most times I simply don’t want to read what everyone else has emailed to those directly suffering.

Not too long ago, manners mavens were aghast over emailed condolence notes; now they are mainstream, as are condolences posted on Facebook.

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Katherine Ashenburg, author of The Mourner’s Dance, about the ways we cope with death, emails many condolences (usually with the subject heading “so very sorry”) and sends handwritten notes to others, and she isn’t quite sure why each person gets which. (The nondigital elderly are always on everyone’s phone/snail mail list.)

With digital records, we can all be emotional archivists. Details fade but are instantly revived if you’ve saved the “stents now in, patient emotional but resting” thread.

And finally, those email blasts, from “Sad news about Frank” to “A message to my friends” can have unintended consequences. I was on Judith John’s comprehensive list — we were always intending to have lunch. When I got that first shocking email that she wrote herself announcing she was heading into brain surgery, I became extraordinarily upset that I might never get the chance to spend time with someone I had always admired.

Since then, our friendship has deepened into something wonderful and close, which made me glad I was included on that original email list. Digital destiny.

Judith Timson writes weekly about cultural, social and political issues. You can reach her at judith.timson@sympatico.ca and follow her on Twitter @judithtimson

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